Silent Screams
by Mischa
Summary: Co-written with Rube. Sort of a replacement for Hannibal. Set after SOTL. If you view it as 'Hannibal' fic, then it is completely canon. Clarice is sent to investigate Hannibal Lecter 'copycat' killings, but are they copycat at all?
1. Chapter 1

Big, general disclaimer: I don't own your character's, and this doesn't even really follow 'Hannibal,' it's set after Silence of the Lambs, and  
is made to be really a sequal to that, in the place of 'Hannibal,' I don't do this for profit, and in fact, only seek for feedback...  
-Rube & Mischa, the co-authors-  
  
Written by Rube and Mischa  
  
"Starling? Is she here?"  
  
"No Mr. Crawford, no sign of her yet, but I'm sure she'll be in later."  
  
Jack cocked his head to the side, considering the secretary's statement, and then seemed to deem it true. He nodded his head and   
turned his head back to his endless mountain of paperwork. Jack was unable to concentrate on it, however; he was a little stressed  
about the next assignment he was putting Starling on. But she seemed to be the most familiar with the Hannibal Lecter case, other then  
the now disfigured Will Graham.   
  
What worried Crawford about Clarice Starling's connection to the case was really a matter of Lecter's connection to the case. In all of his   
years, Jack had never seen any serial killer, sociopath or otherwise, react so...affectionately to someone from the F.B.I. True, Hannibal   
had not seen a woman in eight plus years, but his way of treating Clarice to a way that she felt almost comfortable in his presence gave  
one pause. What did Hannibal want with Clarice?  
  
He had no more time for thoughts on that when a small breeze of brown hair, legs, perfume and brains came swiftly into his office. Or, he  
thought, adding this one to his list, that maybe Hannibal just saw in her what everyone else with half a brain did. She had guts, wit and  
a nice appearence. Crawford couldn't help but agree with the latter as her blue eyes smiled down at him from where she was standing.  
  
"Morning sir." Her soft accent made it sound almost like 'moron sure'. Crawford chuckled to himself. He would have to write that down  
and tell it to Clarice when they weren't under such professional structure. It felt odd to have Clarice call him 'sir' and not Jack or Jay, as  
was their custum.  
  
"Morning Starling. I have something here I would like to assign you to," he said, rummaging around on his desk with his hand, trying to  
find the case file for her. His head was ducked down, but he imagined there was a gleam in Starling's eyes that only popped up when   
she was given a case directly from him. He never gave her shit. She was just too smart for shit. "Ah, here it is," he said, smiling and   
handing her the four hundred or so papers, clipped together with numerous staplers and paper clips.  
  
"Thank you sir," she said, grasping the file in her capable hands and slipping into one of the three chairs that sat before his desk. She   
frowned to herself a little, but her interest seemed piqued by the title. "Hannibal Lecter 'Copycat' killings,' it read, in large, bold lettering.  
She licked her pointer finger and began to flip casually through the file. She plopped it down on his desk, and sat back with her arms folded.  
"Permission to speak freely, sir."  
  
"Granted, Agent Starling."  
  
She sighed and recrossed her arms.  
  
"Jack, I have the feeling that you are giving me this because you know it's not a copycat crime at all, that it's really Doctor Lecter, and  
you're just using me as a sort of bait, leverage against Lecter because you know we've formed a sort of rappaport."  
  
He studied her under hooded eyes.  
  
"You're right about two things. You did form a rappaport with Lecter, so we will try and use this to our advantage, and yes, I myself believe   
that these are not copycat crimes, and are, in fact, just a ploy to make us think so. But I'm putting you on this case because it was the   
only one Krendler's men didn't grab up and you're damn capapble of solving it, Clarice."  
  
"Thanks Jack."  
  
He shook his head.  
  
"Not a compliment, Clarice."  
  
He stood suddenly, and began to pace behind his desk and chair. He felt Starling's eyes on him, and wondered if he really was doing this  
for the right reasons. Her comments just hit too close to home. He tapped his pursed lips and tried not to look at her when he spoke.  
  
"I want you to review that file carefully, Clarice. Give it all of your attention. After you've got some idea of where you think he might be, I   
want you to check yourself by interviewing anyone, ANYONE, who had personal contact with Lecter, and see where they think he might  
be, and I want you to record and cross-check, examine, psychoanalyze and ponder everything they said, minimal or no."  
  
"Well, who do I start with?"  
  
"Barney, that orderly, and Lecter's surviving ex-mistress, Alicia Smith."  
  
"Alicia Smith?" She spoke slowly, as if trying to comprehend a forigen language.  
  
"Mm-hm."  
  
"Lecter's old mistress?"  
  
"Mm-hm."  
  
"Alright."  
  
Her voice was softer then he had ever heard it. His head jerked up. Maybe this was a mistake, maybe she really didn't want to get any  
deeper into the whole Lecter thing, maybe...a quick glance at her face dispelled any doubts Jack had. She could handle it. She was   
Clarice Starling. 


	2. Chapter 2

Authors: Rube and Mischa  
  
Indeed, she WAS Clarice Marie Starling, but this thought didn't cross her worried mind, and even if it had,   
it was doubtful that it would make any difference whatsoever. She was so distressed that her stomach   
cramped up and she thought she saw a rash developing on her fair skin. Hannibal Lecter sure had her  
world doing triple-axel turns. She wondered what he would think if he knew he was the cause of this   
distress. He would probably laugh, Clarice concluded, and give her a little shake of his head.   
Disapproving of her emotions running hay-wire, no doubt.  
  
She didn't dwell much more on this as she rung Barney's doorbell a couple of times. It was chilly out,  
Clarice noted, cupping her gloved hands together, blowing into them and rubbing them together. Down   
the street, she could hear two people arguing, and somewhere beyond that, a door slammed. Police  
sirens echoed in the distance, and then a latch was undone right in front of her.  
  
"Barney," she said, whirling around to find him in pajama bottoms and a wife-beater t-shirt.  
"Can I talk to you for a sec?"  
  
He eyed her up and down, his expression not changing. She thought, for a moment, that he was not   
going to let her in, though she couldn't imagine why he wouldn't. But, after a moment, his fingers that were  
gripping the door sides relaxed, and he swung it open to let her inside.  
  
"Sure."  
  
It was clean, organized, but hardly looked lived in. It looked like only Barney the Orderly would live there.  
My God, Clarice thought, I don't even know his last name! She couldn't ask;, it would be far too rude to ask  
now. She did little turns around the corners of the room, checking everything out, and gave a silent whistle   
of admiration for the thirty-six inch T.V. that stood in the far left corner, facing the couch and matching   
loveseat and chairs.   
  
"Well, Clarice, what can I do for you?"  
  
"Barney," she said, reaching into her coat jacket for her tape recorder, "you might be able to help me by   
telling me what you know about Dr. Lecter."  
  
Barney's shoulders slunk back a little bit, but his eyes gleamed at her from his imposing height.  
  
"I figured that you were gonna ask that. It was only a matter of time before the police began sniffing around   
me for information about the Doctor."  
  
"Do you mind?" Clarice gestured to the tape recorder. Barney shook his head. She nodded and flipped it on.  
  
"This is Agent Clarice M. Starling, interviewing..." Shit! She was really in a mess now. She didn't know   
his last name! Feigning nonchalance, she raised her eyebrows to no one in particular.  
"Well, screw the formalities, let's just get down to business."  
  
"What, I don't get my rights?"  
  
She didn't answer, just took a seat in one of the chairs that was next to the couch where Barney sat.   
  
"Barney, I want you to tell me everything that you know about the Lecter copycat killings."  
  
He drew in a breath and sighed it out, folding his arms across his broad chest.  
  
"All I know is, either Lecter or some genius fool is trying to make it look like Dr. Lecter is killing  
people to make it look like he's in Florence again."  
  
"You don't think he's in Florence?"  
  
"Hard to say. It would be stupid of him to go back; everyone in the F.B.I. must know how much he  
loved it there. Florence was his inspiration, really."  
  
"The F.B.I. had received...or, rather, I've received a postcard from the Doctor, or the copycat, that says  
some rather interesting things."  
  
"Like what interesting things?"  
  
Clarice shifted uncomfortably in her seat.  
  
"Just some things about what he said to me in Baltimore."  
  
Barney nodded his head. Clarice found it odd, but didn't pursue.  
  
"I heard the tapes. Doctor Chilton made tapes of your conversations after the first visit. I'm sorry about your   
father, by the way."  
  
"It's okay," she said hurriedly, wanting to change the subject back to Lecter. "Barney, what did he say   
about Florence to you?"  
  
"He said a lot of things about Florence. He said that he wanted to take you there, if he ever got out. He   
said that you would be a fine, modern improvement to the old statues if you just improved the quality of your  
dress."  
  
"Barney, did he ever say anything that would lead you to believe that he would go back there?"  
  
Barney hesitated, and then, after a while, shook his head.  
  
"If he did, it was very subtle, and I didn't notice it. After you started to come and talk with him,  
mostly the only thing he spoke about was you."  
  
Clarice tried not to seem too interested, but something about the fact that Doctor Lecter spoke  
only about her, generally, to Barney snared her curiosity.  
  
"Well, did he say anything about me in regards to...tracking me, or contacting me if he got out."  
  
"Oh sure." Barney uncrossed and then recrossed his legs. "He said some things about you  
that were rather odd, for Doctor Lecter anyway. It was almost as if he was your stalker, or  
some sort of admirer. He took a fancy to you, I suppose."  
  
"Anything specific you can remember?"  
  
"Just a few things, really. He would talk about you as if there were two of you, a sister   
or something, and he was always fond of you, at least that's what I figured. Lecter said  
that if you would just learn to use your potential, then your career would be a snap, but it was  
said differently than that."  
  
"Okay..."  
  
Barney crunched up his face, trying to remember.  
  
"You know, Doctor Lecter was really subtle about these things, but I can tell you what  
I think, if that might help."  
  
It'll help my ego, Clarice said to herself.  
  
"Sure. You never know."  
  
"Well, when he was free, Lecter dated a lot of attractive women, and he talked to me about them.  
Rich, bored, monotonous women who were too stupid to hold a decent conversation."  
  
"Why was he dating them, then?"  
  
"Because he said it made the public feel more comfortable about him. A normal psychiatrist,   
out with a few gorgeous broads. The newspapers loved to report on him. It seemed that at most   
every social function he went to, there was someone new on his arm."  
  
"Except Alicia Smith?"  
  
Barney chuckled.  
  
"Yes, except Alicia Smith. I think he dated her the longest; eight months or so. I don't think  
Lecter liked her much, though. It's just that she seemed to like him a lot, and she had nice taste.   
Dr. Lecter can't stand the mundane."  
  
"So I noticed," Clarice muttered.  
  
"He must have really liked you, because all the other women that he came across, socially or  
otherwise, he completely bashed. He had a few choice words for some of them. Tramps. Social dangers.  
Archetypal whores. Stuff like that. But, when he talked about you, he seemed to relish it, and he never spat  
out any cruel remarks."  
  
"Why do you think he didn't?"  
  
"I think he has a crush on you. In the letter, was he almost poetic? I mean, that's normal  
for Lecter, but was he using all sorts of metaphors while leaving your dignity untouched?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Barney nodded to himself.   
  
"Miss Starling, I may be wrong, but I think Doctor Lecter wouldn't hurt you even if it came   
downto that. I think your perfectly safe hunting him, in fact, I think that's what he expects you   
to do, what he wants you to do."  
  
"I think you may be right, Barney."  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

Authors: Rube and Mischa  
  
Clarice left Barney's duplex feeling a little more secure about her own feelings on the Lecter case. She no   
longer felt as if questions were hovering over her. She felt free, more free than in a long while. But still, she   
had another person to visit, and that person may not be as big of a boost to her ego. Quite the opposite, in   
fact. Alice Smith, goddess of modern society, and ex-lover of Hannibal Lecter's. This was certainly going to  
bring her down.  
  
Clarice climbed into her Mustang and pulled out a map. Okay, she had to go South and make it to Sunset  
Lane, and then turn on there to lead off onto Lillian. 3214 Lillian Drive was where she would find Alicia.   
She started the car and drove, on edge the entire time.  
  
Surprisingly, Clarice found out, as she passed stop lights and gas stations, Barney did not live that far away   
from Alicia. In fact, it was only a twenty or so minute drive, but the scenery changed dramatically. It went   
from middle-class to upscale luxury in a matter of ten blocks.   
  
She counted down the numbers when she got to Lillian Drive. 3211, 3212, 3213 and, at last, 3214. She   
pulled the car into the driveway, trying not to hit anything or run anything over. Places like this gave her the   
creeps. Huge, museum like houses that made you feel like you were in a morgue they were so cold.  
Shutting off the engine, Clarice unfastened her seatbelt and stepped out of the car, sunglasses perched  
on her head, eyes flittering around the property.  
  
The house was surrounded by great lawns and shrubbery. The walkway, made of pale pink and ivory colored   
stones, made her heels click as she walked it up to the front door. The front door was two French doors that  
looked like they had panels of crystal or some expensive glass set in the delicately. She rang the doorbell,   
and swiped her fingerprint stain tentatively off of the bell.  
  
Footsteps could be heard from inside the house, and then a latch was undone. Clarice straightened her   
posture so that she didn't slouch and smiled at the housekeeper who opened the door with an expectant,  
though polite, look.  
  
"Hello, good afternoon. My name is Clarice Starling, I'm with the F.B.I. and I was wondering if I could   
speak with your employer, Miss Smith?"  
  
The housekeeper opened the door up gently for her to come inside.  
  
"Of course. Follow me."  
  
Clarice nodded her head and followed the maid down the hallway, fast the foyer, into a huge  
living room, or a parlor, Clarice figured you could call it that, it was so fancy, and there, on  
one of the pink couches, was perched probably the most attractive woman Clarice had ever seen.  
  
Alicia smith was about five foot, eight inches, weighing in at maybe a hundred and ten pounds, tall,  
graceful, with long, honey blonde hair that was done in long pin-curls down her back. Her eyes were  
a pale, icy blue but were kind when she smiled at Clarice. White, white, white skin with a tinge of peach  
stain on her cheeks, red lips that curved into a smile, even when she was serious. The black dress she  
wore screamed taste, style, and money, but was cut simply to support her voluptuous, though rather small,  
frame. Her breasts were enviable, Clarice noted, and she was doing just that; envying.  
  
"Hello," Alicia said, reaching out one perfect, manicured hand to beckon to Clarice. "I don't believe we've  
met?" A brow arched, and Clarice felt like cowering in a corner.  
  
"No, we haven't. Miss Smith, my name is Agent Clarice Starling, I'm with the F.B.-"  
  
"Ah, of course. The infamous Belle."  
  
"Belle?" Clarice cocked her head to the side as she took a seat next to the ice queen.  
  
"Belle, as in Beauty and the Beast, regarding what the papers called your...connection   
to Hannibal. I should have recognized you from the papers."  
  
"Oh." Clarice crossed her legs, and wondered why she hadn't worn a skirt. "Yes, well," she  
cleared her throat, "I'm back on Doctor Lecters case, an-"  
  
"Indeed." Nothing further from her, so Clarice continued.  
  
"And, I am here to interview you about where you think he might be, what he talked to you  
about, that sort of thing."  
  
Alicia laughed a little, her head tossed back, mouth opened to reveal perfect rows of  
straight, gleaming teeth.  
  
"You and your comrades haven't got the faintest idea, have you? Oh well, I suppose I   
might be of some sort of help with that. But I assure you, he didn't talk to me about that  
sort of thing much. In fact, I did not know of the murders until much later, when he was  
arrested."  
  
"No one knew, Miss Smith."  
  
"Please, call me Alicia."  
  
"Then you must call me Clarice."  
  
"All right then, Clarice."  
  
"So, do you mind if I turn my tape recorder on?"  
  
Alicia shook her head.  
  
"Not at all." So Clarice did. "Tell me Clarice, what do you want to know?"  
  
"Well, we'll start with the simple stuff. What was the nature of your relationship  
with the Doctor?"  
  
"I was his mistress for nine months."  
  
"Anything previous? Friends, social companions, that sort of thing?"  
  
"My dear, that was all part of the mistress role. I shouldn't really even say I was  
his mistress. We were rarely intimate. I guess it was friendship with a bit of a twist."  
  
"Of course." Clarice was sure that the woman could see her face was flaming.  
"Now, ah, could you tell me a bit more about that?"  
  
"Which part of it, dear?"  
  
"All of it."  
  
Alicia swept her curls to the side.   
  
"Well, I'm sure you realize how charming and persuasive the  
Doctor can be, with you being in his company, a pretty, young woman?"  
  
Clarice was faintly reminded of that horrid Doctor Chilton back in Baltimore.  
She nodded.  
  
"It was the same, only, at first, I perused Hannibal like a dog. I was persistent,  
and I never gave up hope that someday, I would be on his arm."  
  
"And that someday did come."  
  
"Yes, eventually. I think Hannibal was put off by how bold I was. I was enraptured  
by his mind, but more than that, his looks. He was incredibly charismatic, incredibly   
sexy, as I'm sure you must have realized, being female." Clarice didn't say anything.  
"We didn't sleep together for a long while, just went to dinner, the opera, shopping,  
other such things, you understand."  
  
Clarice got comfortable in her seat, knowing that this could take quite a while. 


	4. Chapter 4

Authors: Rube and Mischa  
  
"Well, I mentioned to you that Hannibal was very odd?" Alicia didn't even give Clarice time to answer.  
"Or maybe I didn't. But he was always very gentlemanly, very polite, and he respected my modesty.  
I expected, with him being a man, that he would pursue a psychical relationship, but no. It took much   
aggressive action on my side. It was painfully obvious, how much I wanted him, and I suppose that  
wasn't too smart of me to do." She cut off sharply, jerking her head up, which had been previously  
studying her nails. "Why am I telling you all this?" And yet again, no pause for Clarice to reply.  
"The first time we advanced to a sexual level was probably the best in my life, to date. He was so  
kind. It's impossible for me to comprehend that he did such monstrous things."  
  
"Did Doctor Lecter ever talk to you about his patients?"  
  
Clarice's head was bent over a pad of paper, trying to look busy writing down information, but  
it was a cover for the beet-red face and wide eyes.  
  
"A little here and there. He would mention things off-hand, though, everything not related to  
art or music or books was off-hand with Hannibal. He didn't take an interest in people who  
weren't 'into' what he liked. It took me a while, but I eventually came to enjoy the same things."  
  
That was easy to see, if you looked around the house. Tapestries adorned the walls and   
lovely rugs the hallways. Clarice shook the thoughts off and got back to the task at hand.   
Alicia looked off in her own little world by now. Clarice tried and tried to shake off the mental  
image of Hannibal and Alicia in bed together, but she couldn't dispel it no matter what she did.  
  
A feeling kept snaking it's hold on Clarice's gut. A small feeling of nausea crept up her esophagus,  
and she had a feeling that her face had changed from red to green. Please, she thought to herself,  
please go away and just let me deal! Clarice took a few deep breaths. Alicia, Clarice realized, was  
talking again.  
  
"But he never talked much about his work to me. In fact, now that I reflect, we didn't talk much at  
all. We always went to places were everything was at a light chatter mode, or to the theater or opera,  
where you didn't talk at all. We were rarely alone."  
  
Clarice felt the green feeling relent a little bit.  
  
"Now that you mention it, he did mention someone. A Jame Gumb."  
  
Clarice's heart lurched forward. She was sure she was going to vomit on the rug any moment.   
  
"That name seems so familiar, but I can't place it." Alicia shrugged off the thought.  
  
"When did he mention it?"  
  
"We were vacationing in Florence, at the Hotel Beacci Tornabuoni. Lovely place. It was the last   
time I would ever see him. He mentioned Mr. Gumb briefly. I thought it was odd, because we were  
vacationing and he mentions work..."  
  
"How long did you stay?"  
  
"About a week. He registered under a different name...Kent Simone. He said his work was paying  
for it, so he would use that name to stay free. Doctor Lecter had money, but he preferred to save it  
more often then spend it."   
  
"Do you know the address?"  
  
"I have a card somewhere...Lisa?"  
  
Clarice assumed she was calling out to the housekeeper. Sure enough, several moments later, the  
woman entered the room.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"See if you can't find the brochure for the Hotel Beacci Tornabuoni in Florence."  
  
Her pronunciation was perfect.  
  
"Yes miss."  
  
"Hannibal loved that hotel; he wanted to stay longer, but got a phone call from the  
states, calling him back."  
  
"Do you think that if he were to return to Florence, he would stay there?"  
  
"It's beyond me. I would bet my life on it, but it's possible. He said he liked the streets  
there, in that area."  
  
"Miss, I found it."  
  
"Ah, here we are," Alicia said, as it was handed to her. She held it out for Clarice.  
  
"Hotel Beacci Tornabuoni, via de' Tornabuoni, 3 - 50123 Firenze."  
  
"Yes, that's where it was. Is there anything else, Clarice?"  
  
"Not that I can think of."  
  
"Well, I hate to rush you out, but I'm expecting people over in," she glanced at her gold watch.  
"Ten minutes or so."  
  
"Of course," Clarice quickly stood.  
  
"Will you drop by another time?"  
  
"Sure, as soon as I get a break."  
  
"All right, then."  
  
Alicia smiled at Clarice and then she was shown to the door.  
~~~  
Clarice in no way expected the post card that awaited her return to her house.  
  
  



	5. Chapter 5

Authors: Rube and Mischa  
  
Clarice turned the wrapping of the present over and over in her hands, hoping to God that  
it wasn't what she thought it was. Terrified that it would be, she had been sitting here, like  
this, for the last hour and twelve minutes. Finally exhausted with herself, she tore into the   
package, and out spilled it's contents.  
  
A neatly folded note, a bottle of Chianti, a jar of Fava Beans, (a cruel joke of Lecter's, she was  
sure, but nevertheless, she laughed), and a postcard of the Hotel Beacci Tornabuoni. Her heart  
thumped loudly; how on earth did he know to send the card? Was he in Florence, as the postmarkings  
and card suggested? She checked the copyright date on the postcard; 2001, so he couldn't have bought  
it when he was there with Alicia. Jealousy burned red behind Clarice's eyes at the thought of the woman's  
name. Clarice couldn't, or wouldn't, figure out why that emotion was the one she felt.  
  
Scouring her hand over the gift, she finally picked up the note, not bothering with gloves. Her hands shook  
very little when she opened it.  
  
"Clarice,  
  
Hello again, Little Agent Starling. I expect that you are surprised at this letter? No need to answer that,   
my dear, I have a feeling you are alone, in your house. Just pop open the bottle of the wine, and savor a   
glass with me, will you do that? I'll give you the proper time."  
  
Clarice couldn't believe it as her body propelled itself into the kitchen for a wine glass. She pulled open her  
glass cabinet, and, reaching in, she pulled out a glass with the Coca-Cola emblem on it. Chastising her   
tackiness, she walked back into the bedroom. Her hands had completely stopped shaking now.   
  
"You're back. Good. Now, open the bottle, lifting the cork up slowly. You don't want anything to be damaged,   
and I've found that the anticipation is rather exciting. Now, fill the glass halfway. Doesn't the sound of the two   
different glasses clinking relax you, like a somewhat calm waterfall? Lift the glass up to your nose, and inhale   
the scent. The wine is rather aged, isn't it? It is best that way, though some wine-collecters would argue that.  
  
Do you have in your Compact Disk collection, any classical music? If so, any Mozart will suffice, but if you   
have Gymnopedie by Satie, that would be great. If not, then just put on your soft rock station. No, I'm not trying   
to 'get you into the mood', but, rather, am trying to give you a clear picture of my life, now that I am free.   
  
I imagine that last sentence infuriated you to some degree, did it not? One would think so. I can also bet  
that you hold yourself partially responsible for my escape. If you had not made that Island scam, I would probably   
still be in custody, and Doctor Chilton would still be alive. I think you are at least a little pleased at his demise, though.  
  
Let's get back to the subject at hand, shall we? Drink the glass. This isn't a shot of whiskey, Clarice, so take your   
time with it. Let it's flavor engulf your senses. Enough of that. Let's get down to business, as they say.  
  
Kent Simone. I think that the name rings a bell?"  
  
Clarice nodded to herself, thinking of her conversation with Alicia. Lecter had stayed at the hotel under that name.  
  
"I'm sure it does, Clarice. Are your hands clutching the page of this letter, Starling? I'm sure you'll  
be relieved, (or should I say enlightened?) to know that this is the name of my last...er, patient. You and  
your fellow Agents will classify it as victim or 'poor son of a bitch,' won't you?  
  
I'm afraid that I've written all that care to, for the moment. I'll see you soon?  
  
Ta-  
  
Your Hannibal"  
  
Clarice stumbled to the phone, but she shocked herself by not dialing Jack's number. Instead, Barney   
answered the phone with a gruff 'hello'.  
  
"Hi, Barney. It's uh, it's Clarice Starling here."  
  
"Hello Clarice."  
  
"I'm sorry for bothering you again, but-"  
  
"It's no problem."  
  
"Uh huh. Okay, well, I went to see Alicia Smith."  
  
"You did? How did that go?"  
  
"Good, it went good. She gave me some useful information."  
  
"That's good."  
  
There was a silence from both ends. Clarice was the one who broke it.  
  
"Barney, he wrote to me."  
  
"Oh God." Something on the other line rustled. "What did he say?"  
  
"He sent me some Chianti and fava beans." A snort from Barney. "He said he  
wanted me to get a picture of his life, now that he is free."  
  
"Sounds like Lecter, all right. What else?"  
  
"He mentioned the Plumb Island scam."  
  
"What exactly did he say?"  
  
"'If you had not made that Island scam, I would probably still be in custody, and Doctor   
Chilton would still be alive.' I think he was really mad at me for that scam."  
  
Barney cleared his throat, but didn't say anything.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Clarice, he knew about the scam. We talked about it."  
  
"What!?" Clarice nearly dropped the phone.  
  
"He knew. He said that you were far too confidant to be telling the truth. He said that  
your voice betrayed you. He didn't seem at all angry. He never was angry, oddly, considering   
your probing. Never angry at you in general."  
  
"Barney, do you think that Doctor Lecter LIKED me?" Her voice was disbelieving.  
  
"Honestly, Clarice? Yes, I do."  
  
"But...but, I..."  
  
"He was always excited to hear that you were coming. He never took the F.B.I. seriously,  
you know. Attacked them verbally, then just laid back down. You, he talked to me about.  
I thought it was odd, but it makes more sense now."  
  
"What makes sense now?"  
  
"Clarice, he wants you to track him. To follow him. You fascinate him. He's surprised by you.  
No one I've heard of has done that."  
  
"What should I DO, Barney? I don't know what to do." Her voice sounded desperate, even to   
her own ears.  
  
"I think you should go to Florence. Try to find him. If you can't do that, investigate the   
other killings from the supposed copycat. You'll find him, I know you will."  
  
Clarice noted that Barney didn't say 'catch,' but 'find'.  
  
"Thank you, Barney."  
  
"You're welcome, Clarice."  
  
They hung up with no further words. Clarice stared at the wall in stunned silence.  



End file.
